Keep The Faith
by thisislandgirl
Summary: There’s nothing glorious about dying. There’s no bright white light leading the way, no comfort and warmth to bask in. There are no family members waiting to help him cross over or heavenly hosts singing joyously as they lead him home. No, dying is ...


**Keep the Faith**

**Rating: **PG

**Characters:** Dean, Sam

**Episode: **1.12 "_Faith_"

**Word Count: **2,694 words

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, just using them to keep us warm over winter hiatus! And to keep our Thursdays Super! *g*

**Warning: **takes place during "Faith" and drifts a little *shrugs*

**Summary: SUPER THURSDAY FIC 1 **_There's nothing glorious about dying. There's no bright white light leading the way, no comfort and warmth to bask in. There are no family members waiting to help him cross over or heavenly hosts singing joyously as they lead him home. No, dying is nothing but darkness and fear and agonizing pain. _Hurt!Dean, Angsty!Protective!Sam

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Dean has always been invincible to Sam. Nothing disturbed his big brother. Even when they were little Sam had though that there wasn't anything, anywhere in the world that could harm Dean. It was just a fact. He's indestructible; an unmovable force, as strong and solid as steel.

Maybe that's why it took a few extra seconds for Sam to realize that his brother was in serious danger. And maybe that's why he stares at Dean's doctor confused; waiting for different information because surely this somber faced man couldn't be talking about Dean. His big brother couldn't by lying in a hospital bed, heart giving out on him at the age of 26.

"I'm sorry Sam. We can make him comfortable, but that's all." The doctor places a sympathetic hand on Sam's shoulder and gives him a weak smile. "You should go see him." With that the doctor steps around him and walks off down the hall.

But Sam can't move. He stands there as the hustle and bustle of the nurses and patients and families move around him. Three different nurses go in and out of Dean's room three different times. He watches in brief snatches, through the open door and privacy curtain, the stages of Dean's consciousness.

Pale and unresponsive on the bed.

Awake but lethargic.

Tired. Confused. Fighting.

It kills him to look, to watch. All his life he's seen Dean healthy and strong and vital. He's watched Dean take charge and lead Sam when got lost. But not now. Not today.

Today Sam became the strong one. He had to shoulder this burden and see it through. There was no running and hiding from this. His brother was dying and he needed to man up and face it like Dean would. Square his shoulders; act like it doesn't change anything.

The only problem is that Sam isn't like Dean. He can't brush it off and make a joke out of it. He can't smile, like he knows Dean will, and make up some bullshit like he was just unlucky. He won't just accept that this is the end of the line for Dean.

It isn't until the forth nurse comes out of Dean's room that Sam finally bolsters enough courage to take the few steps in Dean's room.

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There's nothing glorious about dying. There's no bright white light leading the way, no comfort and warmth to bask in. There are no family members waiting to help him cross over or heavenly hosts singing joyously as they lead him home. No, dying is nothing but darkness and fear and agonizing pain. It's desperately fighting back the darkness trying to swallow you up; hoping with everything you have left that someone will come and save you before your head goes under.

Dying isn't pretty or glamorous. And there's nothing courageous or heroic about it. It just sucks. A lot.

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Waking up in a private hospital room filled with medical equipment should give him a good idea of just how bad his situation is. Heart monitors, IV drips with too long names, the oxygen tube snaking under his nose and helping him breathe, even the weak and heavy feeling in his limbs should indicate that this isn't just another run of the mill injury. But even the young, sad faced nurses coming and going at regular intervals, checking his vitals and scribbling in his chart, don't register with him.

It takes him a good few minutes to realize that Sam isn't in the room, hovering in the background. He's not there at all. And that fact would bother Dean terribly, to the point of getting out of bed, if he didn't know his brother so well. And if he hadn't caught a peek of Sam standing frozen out in the hallway.

He could well imagine all the thoughts racing through his brother's mind at the moment. Probably guilt and worry at the forefront. Cogs already turning, forming a master plan that will save him. Sam's trying to digest the situation, to come to terms with the gravity of their situation and find the best way to deal with it, Winchester style.

Dean wants Sam with him, would feel a whole lot better about all of this if he had someone he trusted to give him answers. He would feel better having Sam by his side and seeing if his brother is okay or not. It's selfish but he wants Sam to be there so he can be wanted and needed just as much as he wants and needs his brother. But he knows Sam will need time to himself, so he can deal with his emotions and get himself in order.

So he flips on the TV and feigns interest for no one in particular while he counts each second that passes until his brother enters the room.

When Dean finally sees his Sam, he needs no other hint dropped. They are in some serious shit this time. Dean knows his brother takes a lot to heart but never has Dean seen Sam look so scared, so defeated. His shoulders are slumped with the weight of the world and eyes glassy with unshed tears.

It takes Sam a moment to notice that Dean is awake and watching him, but when he does, his posture straightens and he meets Dean's gaze full on, trying to act normal. He can't do anything about the redness in his eyes but he gives Dean the best imitation of a smile he can muster.

Dean just shakes his head, giving Sam a weak smile. Dying isn't something they talk about. It's a fact of life, especially in their line of work. They need to expect it at every turn. Not many hunters live to be a ripe old age. Some times its just luck. And today, Dean drew the short straw.

Heart failure. Who knew?

When he says as much to Sam, his younger brother turns towards the windows shaking his head. "No, Dean …" but he can't finish. Sam just bows his head and stares off at the horizon.

Dean rambles off a list of demands; take care of the car, salt and burn his bones, make sure Sam follows any and all of Dad's orders, stay safe. And all the while Sam just nods his assent, still turned away from Dean.

"It'll be okay, Sam. You'll see."

Sam reaches a hand up and wipes at his cheeks. He drags in a rough breath and turns back to face his brother, tear tracks still visible on his face. "Yeah, Dean. Whatever you say."

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Sam slams the laptop closed with a frustrated sigh and sweeps his hand across the mattress, sending books and papers flying. Then, in defeat, he flops on the bed, head in his hands. After everything, everyone he contacted and everywhere he looked, Sam still can't find someone to help them. To save Dean.

He can feel the burn behind his eyes and tries to pawn it off as exhaustion, as stress. But he isn't a very good liar, especially to himself, and before he knows it, the tears are rolling down his cheeks.

Dean's going to die and he can't to anything about it. It's been four long days of visiting with Dean at the hospital, of trying to keep him occupied and in bed where he needs to stay. Sam makes diner runs to get Dean some 'good, greasy food' and gas station runs to get him snacks. He's scoured every store in town for any car and gun magazines, for newspapers and tabloids, hell Sam had even broken down and bought Dean a skin mag out of desperation. He did what he had to do to make sure Dean was safe and taken care of.

And when Dean would nod off at the end of visiting hours, Sam would walk back to the hotel and research some more. He fielded the calls he missed while in the hospital and checked his email, praying for more information to show up. And he wouldn't give in until he hit too big of a wall or he was ready to hit the floor from exhaustion. Only then would he close the laptop and slid under the covers on Dean's bed, still fully clothed.

And tonight, night five, was no different. He scrolled through countless pages full of medical jargon written by overpaid doctors turned professors. He's read more medical journal and learned more about hearts than first year interns. But it's all the same. They all tell him there is nothing to do. That Dean can't be fixed. That his brother is going to die. But still he searches on, won't leave any stones unturned. He'll be damned if he's going to give up on Dean so easily.

He gets a few calls from his father's contacts and one from Missouri. They all tell him the same things; "I'm so sorry Sam. I wish I had better news for you, but I don't know of any way to save Dean. Keep you head up and keep trying."

But after hitting so many walls, Sam's not sure how much longer he can keep his faith. There's nothing for him to hold onto; no hope that he can see. He wishes, not for the first time, that Dean was here, sitting across from him. Dean could always get him to calm down and focus again; could coax ideas out of him when it seemed they had hit a dead end. Without Dean, Sam fells useless and directionless.

Taking a deep breath, Sam scrubs a hand over his cheeks, erasing the tears. Feeling sorry for himself and wishing his time, Dean's time, away won't solve anything. He needs to go over everything again. He had to have missed something, overlooked some contact …

Their father.

For five days Sam had bee struggling, trying to find some contact in their father's journal that could help. But he'd never once considered going straight to the source. Sure, it was next to impossible to contact him before. But that was before Dean had gotten hurt, before they were running out of time. Surely their father wouldn't ignore them when Dean was dying.

With shaky fingers, he dials his father's number and listens as the phone rings. And rings. And rings. Until finally his voicemail picks up.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam starts to speak. "Dad, its Sam. I know I should have called before but please, I need your help. Dean got hurt a few days ago, pretty badly. The doctors say he's- … Dean's dying and I don't know how to help him. They all say it's hopeless but they don't know the things we know, right? There has to be a way to help him. Please, you know I wouldn't call and beg you if I had any other options. Do this for Dean, Dad. Please, call back."

Sam hesitantly clicks the end button and sets the phone down gently on his bed scattered with research. He would call back. Sam had to believe it. It was the only shred of hope he now had left. Dad would call back and he would have an answer for them. He would save Dean.

But even as he thought it, Sam knew it was a lie. Frustrated, exhausted, defeated. Sam sank back down on Dean's bed and stared hopelessly at the research scattered about the room.

A soft knock on the motel room door broke his bleak introspection. Confused, he glanced at his watch, wondering who would be bothering him at midnight. He was contemplating whether or not to answer when the knock came again, a little stronger and a little louder. It was what he heard after the knock, however, that spurred him into action.

"Sam? Open up."

_Dean_.

Sam practically ran across the room and threw the door open. Dean was standing there, leaning against the frame. He was pale and shaky and breathing like he'd run ten miles. But that didn't matter to Sam. All he cared about was that his brother was back with him, back by his side.

Resisting the urge to hug his brother, Sam grabbed Dean by the elbow and ushered him into the room, not deterred when Dean attempted to shrug him off. Sam settled Dean onto the bed farthest from the door, helping him lean up against the headboard and taking off his boots. Only then did Sam slow down and sit on the bed opposite Dean.

"You feel better now, Sam?" Dean joked, giving his brother a weak smile. "Damn, what have you been doing the passed few nights? You look worse than me and you can't get much worse than a dead guy."

But Sam wasn't buying the funny-guy act. "What the hell were you thinking Dean, leaving the hospital?!" Sam was furious. But more than that, he was scared and worried.

"I wasn't gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot, dude." Dean winks at him and settles back against the pillows even more. He closes his eyes for a minute, waiting for Sam to respond. When all he gets is silence, Dean cracks open one eye and glances over at Sam. "Besides, I figured your geek brain found a way to save me. So what do we have to do?"

Despite his joking tone, Sam can see a glimmer of hope in Dean's eyes and it kills him all the more. He shakes his head, not meeting Dean's eyes.

"I can't Dean. There's nothing. I've searched everywhere, called everyone-" Sam's voice catches and he slams his eyes shut, willing the emotions away. "I'm still waiting on a few calls but everyone's been telling me the same thing. There's no way to save you, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean shrugs his shoulders like its no big deal, like they are talking about not getting extra onions on a burger instead of not saving Dean's life. Sam feels white hot anger brew deep inside his chest wanting to burst out but it's only the look he sees in Dean's eyes that stops him.

Fear. Dean is well and truly scared now in the face of Sam's confession. But for both of their sakes he's trying to be strong.

It almost works.

"Well then at least I get to spend the rest of my time annoying the shit out of you." Dean smiles a shit-eat grin before he yawns and slides down to rest his head on the pillows. "Now quit yapping and let me get my beauty sleep, bitch."

Sam nods, his trademark come-back getting stuck in his throat. He pulls the blanket over Dean and watches as his brother's eyes drop closed.

After a moment he cracks open his eye again and glances over at Sam. "Aren't we in the wrong beds?" He arches an eyebrow but makes no move to correct the situation.

"Thought we could switch for the night," Sam murmurs, a lump growing in his throat. All his life, Dean had looked out for Sam, made sure his little brother was well protected and out of harms way. Tonight though, Sam was reversing the roles. He was going to take care of Dean; he wasn't going to let anything happen to his brother as long as he was around. Tonight, Sam was the big brother.

"Yeah, I guess we can." Dean's eyes are growing heavy, sleep coming to him now that he ia back where he belongs, at his brother's side. He knows Sam is strong and will look out for the both of them. And Sam is stubborn, that Dean knows all too well. If there is a way to save him, Sam will find it in good time. Dean would stake his soul on that.

"G'night Sammy." He murmurs before finally drifting off to sleep.

Sam wipes a tear away as he leans back on the bed, eyes trained on Dean's form. He won't get any sleep tonight either, waiting on a miracle and counting each and every breath his brother takes, afraid the next will be his last.

"Night Dean."

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**end.**

**A/N: **Have an LJ account? Go HERE (www. livejournal .com/poll/?id=1309629) and vote for this Thursdays episode! Any and all help is highly appreciated.


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